Come on babe, why don't we paint the town?
*~*~*
London, England; January 1929
Somehow. It was a word in his vocabulary, he realized, he only used when referring to anything regarding Grell Sutcliff. Somehow the Agent was still employed. Somehow the Agent was still alive. Somehow he was in his car with said Agent and somehow he was on his way to 'the hottest club in London'- whatever that meant.
"-absolutely the hottest dance music around and they're playing his band's tunes down at this little spot I know and we absolutely can't miss it." A whirlwind of speech coupled with flamboyant gestures that caused the loops of pearls to rustle animatedly. "You need to be there Billy-"
"William."
"-it's fantastic! They're playing Fred Elizalde's music! Can you imagine? A jazz club in London? Oh just the very idea of it all gets me-"
"Jazz? I can hardly believe that godawful warbling is becoming popular here in England." William made no effort to hide his disgust. "That horrid noise polluting the airwaves and turning the youth rancid with rebellion- turning the women into cloudy-headed girls."
He hated jazz music, though he was not so cruel and unreasonable a man as to ban it from the workplace. Fair and diplomatic, he permitted its existence so long as the radios or records played were not loud enough to be heard from his office on the second floor.
He hated how orderly society had crumbled under the pressure of war. Classes mixed and though aristocracy distanced itself even further, young men and women were extremely liberal with their lives in all aspects. William barely recognized London nowadays though his Agent seemed to be having the time of his life.
"Don't knock it til you try it, Billy." Grell scolded him, before plucking the classy silk tophat off William's hair. "No one wears these. All the handsome young men wear trilbys." A smart black trilby was popped atop William's head and there it remained for but a second before William removed the hat.
"My name is William and if you feel compelled to shorten it, then Will suffices." The Officer corrected, before addressing the issue of the odd headwear in his hands. "It bears the appearance of a squashed tophat after an attempt to make it into a bowler, only to have it fail rather miserably."
"It's all the rage." The redhead tisked, preening his own appearance in the reflection of an enamel compact before snatching the trilby from William's hands and popping it back onto his hair. "You need to update your appearance as well as your world view dear Billy."
"Dear William is contemplating throwing you out of his car." A glare. A pout.
"Don't be horrid Billy. I'm trying to get you to enjoy the most glorious era London has ever seen! The era of freedom after war, of jazz and the independent woman!" Grell sighed, fiddling with the feathered headband peeking out from beneath his hat. "Everyone is happy to be alive. Enjoy!" A playful tap to his nose, a cheeky wink. A sigh.
The car pulled up against the sidewalk, the driver nodding to them in the rear-view mirror. Habit saw William alight first and open the car door for Grell, the act of which brought a wide smile on blood-red lips. He paid no heed, and instead picked at his own appearance. No suit jacket (too dressy), just an arrow-collared shirt with sleeve garters, a blood-red tie (just dressy enough!) and plain waistcoat to compliment plain slacks. William considered himself so underdressed as to feel almost naked.
"Just finished this dress today, isn't it gorgeous?" The fur trimmed wrap-around coat was tossed to an awaiting bell-boy in the cloak room as Grell presented his ensemble for the evening. A flimsy shift dress that defined no figure whatsoever, belted with flamboyant beading low at the waist and then dripping with strings of beads all along the hem. Legs shimmered due to a fresh pair of rayon stockings and neat dancing shoes with black ribbon closure. Grell removed the snug cloche hat and turned his head left and right.
"New perm. Daring haircut to match the daring new independent woman." He announced with a flourish before tossing his hat to the bell-boy and striding past without another thought.
William almost choked on his own gasp of surprise as he caught sight of the throng ahead. Not only was his Agent dressed in ridiculous clothing but also every female, Reaper or not, turned to Grell as though he dictated the trend single-handedly. Shimmering fabrics, rustling fringes and clacking beads. Short boyish hair with a feminine perm. Rouged cheeks and bared knees in flesh-toned stockings.
"Sweets! You made it!"
"Jimmy!" Grell draped himself into the embrace of a grinning young man. "We're not too late to the scene are we?"
"Barely started without you, Sweets." A wink as he kissed the column of Grell's throat, hands unashamedly roaming. The redhead swatted his hands away.
"Behave Jimmy. I've brought a gentleman here to try and educate him." William found himself yanked from his standing spot and thrust before the young man. "This is Billy Spears. Billy, this is Jimmy Jones from New York and he owns this hot spot."
Headache.
William closed his eyes and pursed his lips before he recollected himself and offered the young man his hand.
"William Spears." The young man chuckled, taking on an air of patronism before attempting an English accent.
"James Jones, my good sir. Utterly chuffed you could make it to this here respectable event."
"Oh Jimmy," Grell giggled, prodding his shoulder, "don't be terrible. Billy's here to learn to loosen up. Be a dear and play nice?"
"As is required when on neutral grounds." A bow, a glint of yellow in the American Reaper's brown eyes.
William noticed it the moment his left heel made contact with the floorboards of the main entertainment area. Three distinct races mingled in the smoky atmosphere. Mortals, Reapers and Demons; one demon seated at the piano, he knew and despised above all other demons. Smug smirk as their eyes met, the demon's red eyes ablaze with amusement as his fingers danced across ivory and ebony keys. Hands squeezed his shoulders, a playful voice by his ear.
"It'll be alright Billy. We're all here for the same reason- jazz and liquor." Grell Sutcliffe purred and somehow William found himself unable to escape.
*~*~*
**saved for future editing- chapter insert here**
*~*~*
"So what did you think?" Grell asked, his excitement dulled due to drowsiness as they exited the venue well after midnight. William pursed his lips.
"My auditory senses have been raped, my visual senses scorched and the beauty of brass instruments violated."
The sleek black car pulled up and William dutifully opened the door for his more feminine subordinate. Grell managed to ungracefully crawl into the vehicle before bundling himself up in his fur coat.
"Whatever happened to a lady's modesty?" William did not think he would ever long for the interior of his car and yet utter relief flooded his veins as he leaned against the leather seat. "Her demure finesse?"
"Billy," Grell barely restrained a yawn behind his hand, snuggling against William's side, "we're independent women now. We've earned the right to vote and do as we please."
"There is no we in that statement, Grell Sutcliffe." William corrected him after an indulgent sigh. "Hard-working, mortal women and understanding mortal men earned that change in legislation after years of fighting figuratively and physically at times. Female Reapers have voted, worked and fought alongside male Reapers since our race first came into existence. Female Reapers are not bound by the life-giving cycle, since they are emissaries of Death, and thus are not privy to gender discrimination that of which runs rampant in mortal society."
"Mmhmm." Soft fox fur tickled his nape as Grell snuggled closer, both arms wrapped around William's arm, one hand curled by his chin and the other resting on William's shoulder. It was three past the hour of two in the morning and the car continued its journey through streets blanketed by sleep. William could hardly remember the last time, if ever, he had been out about in town off-duty at such an hour.
Somehow even though modern London was so foreign, as She slept William still found himself proud to be Her keeper. Somehow the rumble of the car against cobblestones soothed, rather than jarred his tired body. Somehow the warm weight against his side eased rather than grated his nerves; more recently raw due to the rumbles of unrest that were all man's doing.
Somehow as Grell slept soundly, head resting on his shoulder, William did not mind his company at all.
London, England; January 1929
Somehow. It was a word in his vocabulary, he realized, he only used when referring to anything regarding Grell Sutcliff. Somehow the Agent was still employed. Somehow the Agent was still alive. Somehow he was in his car with said Agent and somehow he was on his way to 'the hottest club in London'- whatever that meant.
"-absolutely the hottest dance music around and they're playing his band's tunes down at this little spot I know and we absolutely can't miss it." A whirlwind of speech coupled with flamboyant gestures that caused the loops of pearls to rustle animatedly. "You need to be there Billy-"
"William."
"-it's fantastic! They're playing Fred Elizalde's music! Can you imagine? A jazz club in London? Oh just the very idea of it all gets me-"
"Jazz? I can hardly believe that godawful warbling is becoming popular here in England." William made no effort to hide his disgust. "That horrid noise polluting the airwaves and turning the youth rancid with rebellion- turning the women into cloudy-headed girls."
He hated jazz music, though he was not so cruel and unreasonable a man as to ban it from the workplace. Fair and diplomatic, he permitted its existence so long as the radios or records played were not loud enough to be heard from his office on the second floor.
He hated how orderly society had crumbled under the pressure of war. Classes mixed and though aristocracy distanced itself even further, young men and women were extremely liberal with their lives in all aspects. William barely recognized London nowadays though his Agent seemed to be having the time of his life.
"Don't knock it til you try it, Billy." Grell scolded him, before plucking the classy silk tophat off William's hair. "No one wears these. All the handsome young men wear trilbys." A smart black trilby was popped atop William's head and there it remained for but a second before William removed the hat.
"My name is William and if you feel compelled to shorten it, then Will suffices." The Officer corrected, before addressing the issue of the odd headwear in his hands. "It bears the appearance of a squashed tophat after an attempt to make it into a bowler, only to have it fail rather miserably."
"It's all the rage." The redhead tisked, preening his own appearance in the reflection of an enamel compact before snatching the trilby from William's hands and popping it back onto his hair. "You need to update your appearance as well as your world view dear Billy."
"Dear William is contemplating throwing you out of his car." A glare. A pout.
"Don't be horrid Billy. I'm trying to get you to enjoy the most glorious era London has ever seen! The era of freedom after war, of jazz and the independent woman!" Grell sighed, fiddling with the feathered headband peeking out from beneath his hat. "Everyone is happy to be alive. Enjoy!" A playful tap to his nose, a cheeky wink. A sigh.
The car pulled up against the sidewalk, the driver nodding to them in the rear-view mirror. Habit saw William alight first and open the car door for Grell, the act of which brought a wide smile on blood-red lips. He paid no heed, and instead picked at his own appearance. No suit jacket (too dressy), just an arrow-collared shirt with sleeve garters, a blood-red tie (just dressy enough!) and plain waistcoat to compliment plain slacks. William considered himself so underdressed as to feel almost naked.
"Just finished this dress today, isn't it gorgeous?" The fur trimmed wrap-around coat was tossed to an awaiting bell-boy in the cloak room as Grell presented his ensemble for the evening. A flimsy shift dress that defined no figure whatsoever, belted with flamboyant beading low at the waist and then dripping with strings of beads all along the hem. Legs shimmered due to a fresh pair of rayon stockings and neat dancing shoes with black ribbon closure. Grell removed the snug cloche hat and turned his head left and right.
"New perm. Daring haircut to match the daring new independent woman." He announced with a flourish before tossing his hat to the bell-boy and striding past without another thought.
William almost choked on his own gasp of surprise as he caught sight of the throng ahead. Not only was his Agent dressed in ridiculous clothing but also every female, Reaper or not, turned to Grell as though he dictated the trend single-handedly. Shimmering fabrics, rustling fringes and clacking beads. Short boyish hair with a feminine perm. Rouged cheeks and bared knees in flesh-toned stockings.
"Sweets! You made it!"
"Jimmy!" Grell draped himself into the embrace of a grinning young man. "We're not too late to the scene are we?"
"Barely started without you, Sweets." A wink as he kissed the column of Grell's throat, hands unashamedly roaming. The redhead swatted his hands away.
"Behave Jimmy. I've brought a gentleman here to try and educate him." William found himself yanked from his standing spot and thrust before the young man. "This is Billy Spears. Billy, this is Jimmy Jones from New York and he owns this hot spot."
Headache.
William closed his eyes and pursed his lips before he recollected himself and offered the young man his hand.
"William Spears." The young man chuckled, taking on an air of patronism before attempting an English accent.
"James Jones, my good sir. Utterly chuffed you could make it to this here respectable event."
"Oh Jimmy," Grell giggled, prodding his shoulder, "don't be terrible. Billy's here to learn to loosen up. Be a dear and play nice?"
"As is required when on neutral grounds." A bow, a glint of yellow in the American Reaper's brown eyes.
William noticed it the moment his left heel made contact with the floorboards of the main entertainment area. Three distinct races mingled in the smoky atmosphere. Mortals, Reapers and Demons; one demon seated at the piano, he knew and despised above all other demons. Smug smirk as their eyes met, the demon's red eyes ablaze with amusement as his fingers danced across ivory and ebony keys. Hands squeezed his shoulders, a playful voice by his ear.
"It'll be alright Billy. We're all here for the same reason- jazz and liquor." Grell Sutcliffe purred and somehow William found himself unable to escape.
*~*~*
**saved for future editing- chapter insert here**
*~*~*
"So what did you think?" Grell asked, his excitement dulled due to drowsiness as they exited the venue well after midnight. William pursed his lips.
"My auditory senses have been raped, my visual senses scorched and the beauty of brass instruments violated."
The sleek black car pulled up and William dutifully opened the door for his more feminine subordinate. Grell managed to ungracefully crawl into the vehicle before bundling himself up in his fur coat.
"Whatever happened to a lady's modesty?" William did not think he would ever long for the interior of his car and yet utter relief flooded his veins as he leaned against the leather seat. "Her demure finesse?"
"Billy," Grell barely restrained a yawn behind his hand, snuggling against William's side, "we're independent women now. We've earned the right to vote and do as we please."
"There is no we in that statement, Grell Sutcliffe." William corrected him after an indulgent sigh. "Hard-working, mortal women and understanding mortal men earned that change in legislation after years of fighting figuratively and physically at times. Female Reapers have voted, worked and fought alongside male Reapers since our race first came into existence. Female Reapers are not bound by the life-giving cycle, since they are emissaries of Death, and thus are not privy to gender discrimination that of which runs rampant in mortal society."
"Mmhmm." Soft fox fur tickled his nape as Grell snuggled closer, both arms wrapped around William's arm, one hand curled by his chin and the other resting on William's shoulder. It was three past the hour of two in the morning and the car continued its journey through streets blanketed by sleep. William could hardly remember the last time, if ever, he had been out about in town off-duty at such an hour.
Somehow even though modern London was so foreign, as She slept William still found himself proud to be Her keeper. Somehow the rumble of the car against cobblestones soothed, rather than jarred his tired body. Somehow the warm weight against his side eased rather than grated his nerves; more recently raw due to the rumbles of unrest that were all man's doing.
Somehow as Grell slept soundly, head resting on his shoulder, William did not mind his company at all.